


Not To Me- Not If It's You.

by Pres310



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Derealization, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nico is mentally ill, Nico isnt used to having people care about him, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short Story, Therapist Dionysus, Unintentional Self Harm, Will is so in love with this kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pres310/pseuds/Pres310
Summary: "It's Rotten Work.""Not to me- not if it's you."------Nico has a bad flashback and is surprised when somebody is worried about him.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo & Will Solace, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Comments: 4
Kudos: 139





	Not To Me- Not If It's You.

It really was rotten work.

  
Nico thought to himself that it was rotten work as he stepped into the shower (after so many years of being homeless, he’d taken a liking to keeping clean). The hot water ran down his freckled face and shut his eyes with a gentle touch. He let out a shaky breath. His lungs rattled in his chest and he balled up his hands to stop them from shaking. The familiar darkness left him alone and he convinced himself it was comfortable, that the water was a warm embrace, that the Cold silver taste of the water would overpower the tart pomegranate bile in the back of his throat. The drumming of water was a pleasant sort of static. The dim, shadowy bathroom lighting was the warm grey of smoke and Nico had never felt more like a ghost than in that moment. Hollow, cold, wispy. Gone.

  
It was rotten work, Nico told himself as he folded in on himself and crouched down on the porcelain floor. It was cold against his knees, but he didn't shudder until his fingers brushed his all-too-sharp rib cage. He was so thin, striding the fine line between strong and frail like a tightrope walker. Some days- most days- he felt strong. Like he was making any sort of progress. And then… and then there was this moment.

  
It was rotten work- it was burdensome work. It was hard enough for him to get out of bed most days, he couldn't imagine somebody else bearing that cross. He should have been able to take care of himself, damnit, little acts of care shouldn't hit him like a punch to the gut. They shouldn't leave a painful, aching pit in his gut. Will Solace asking if he was okay with watching a specific movie with the other campers _specifically_ because some character’s sibling died- shouldn't have left his head spinning. But it did. But the skeletal butterflies in his stomach still refused to rest. But it still pulled Nico into the sunlight.

  
Steam clouded around Nico not quite unlike ghosts. Not unlike the cold, prickling clouds that followed the dead. It made it slightly harder to breathe, not unlike suffocating fabric and not unlike damp cave walls and not unlike dark glass jars and not un- not like- not-

  
Nico bit down on his knuckles to keep from making noise and he shut his eyes tighter to keep from- from whatever was outside the walls of his eyelids. He could taste something other than water, other than cool silver. It was tart and metallic and staining red, it was the dark juice of pomegranates, it was enough to make him sputter and spit out whatever it was. The taste was cruel. The outside world was cruel. The Steam was cruel. The Lightning-shaped rivulets of water running down the curves of his small body were cruel. Curling up, on the shower floor, in his cabin, felt almost kind. Rolling around the glowing pearl of his memories in his head seemed… almost kind. Possibly kind. To him, at least.

  
Something was whispering. The voice was the sharp and bone-chilling, spine-tingling scrape of dead leaves against rocks. The Cold floor no longer felt like porcelain and the steam was no longer steam and reality was torn and frayed like an old coat. Rainwater from all of those lonely storms pelted his spine and water traced his skin like uncomfortable and unwanted calloused fingertips. Nico felt… almost childish. Small. And so uncomfortably wrong, like a mockery, like whatever his mind buried had tainted all of his other memories. The shower water was warm and clean but Nico felt so indescribably cold. Waterlogged. Dirty. Drowned.

  
Processing the sharp pain in his knuckles finally snapped him out of it. His eyes flew open as he half-choked, half-gasped. Teeth marks left small holes and crescent moons on his bony knuckles and dark red blood dripped between his fingers. Pomegranate red, his mind wouldn't let him forget. What once seemed like a voice was only the plastic shower curtain brushing the wall. The white porcelain was cold beneath his hands and he pressed his palms flat, grounding himself. The steam was still uncomfortably thick and choking. But it was just steam. Evaporated water and nothing more. Nico looked up to the showerhead like it was a savior, like a sunflower finding the sun. There was no rain, there were no storm clouds above him and best of all, there were no unwelcome hands. He could just… turn off the water if it was making him uncomfortable. Nico found comfort in that.

  
Switching off the water, Nico leaned against the wall and breathed. Slowly, shakily in, and quickly rattling out. Slowly in, and out. In and out. His thoughts settled like dust, and it was then that Nico became aware of how tired he was. Despite not doing much- it was late autumn and most campers were gone- he felt sore. But more importantly, his knuckles were still bleeding. He swore under his breath. Now, it was either go to the infirmary for something small, or slap a bandaid on it and have somebody ask a bunch of questions. Nico reasoned that maybe stopping by the Apollo Cabin Infirmary wasn't such a bad idea. He would probably get one of those tacky skeleton bandaids (courtesy of Hazel) the camp kept stocked, much to his chagrin. He could help organize things, if it was needed. Nico brushed off the selfish thought of Will holding his hand to look at his knuckles and he was very quick to repress the thought of “am I just going over there to see him?”. Nico had a perfectly good reason to stop by, and he wasn't going to be selfish by taking up Will’s time.

  
*.*.*

  
It was Rotten Work- he needed to do better.

  
“Babe- _This could get infected-_ ”

  
“But It hasn't-”

  
“But it could!” Will’s tone was full of worry, the arguing without any actual bite. Nico sat on the counter of the infirmary, swinging his legs absentmindedly. The infirmary was almost empty, save for two people (an Aphrodite camper whose ear piercing got infected, and her girlfriend whose gift of homemade earrings caused said infection). “Teeth are covered in bacteria, Nico, you don't know where they’ve been.”

  
“What if I know exactly where they’ve been,” Nico wished that he’d just kept his mouth shut. Will looked up, hands midway through wrapping a tacky band aid around Nico’s right knuckles. What was once a nose-scrunched look of exasperation, surprisingly fond, suddenly deepened into one of concern. “Shit- I didn't mean-”

  
“Nico?” Will softly interrupted. His quiet tone left a warm, almost sticky feeling in Nico’s chest. He tried to swallow his rising anxiety- he bit his tongue to hold back tears. He found it so unfair that something so small could break him down completely. “Can I ask- what happened?”

  
Nico knew that he should tell Will. He knew that being open about this was important, but it's too much and too soon. It pulled him into the unfamiliar sunlight and the warmth didn't feel earned.

  
“Oh, Y'know-” Nico forced the words out. “Had a breakdown in the shower, didn't realize I was biting my hand that hard until I was kind of coherent again.” The expression that crossed Will’s face made Nico wish he’d just said nothing at all. He scooted back an inch on the counter before the hand wrapping a band aid around his knuckles laced it's fingers with his. He froze.

  
“Nico-”

  
“I know it's not good and that I need to talk to Dionysus-”

  
“ _Nico-_ ”

  
“And I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, you didn't sign up for- any of it-”

  
“ _ **Nico,**_ ” there was a hand on Nico’s cheek and there were small freckles splattered under Will’s blue eyes. “First of all- yeah, you need to talk to Dionysus about this. Second of all- don't apologize.”

  
That part genuinely took Nico aback for a moment. “What?”

  
“Don't apologize,” Will repeated himself. “You aren't always gonna have good days- you're still in recovery. And of course I signed up for this! I care about you, dork, and that isn't just limited to your good days.”

  
“Still,” Nico leaned away from Will’s hand. “It's rotten work.”

  
Something crumbled in Will’s expression. He pressed his lips shut, squeezing Nico’s hand. He sighed, pressing his eyes shut before meeting his boyfriend’s again.

  
“Not to me,” he said genuinely. “Not if it's you.”


End file.
